


In The Christmas Bakery

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Baking, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Kissing in the kitchen, M/M, Making a mess, Mycroft helps Greg, Mystrade Advent Calendar 2017, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 21:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13108851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: And some kind of help is the kind of helpThat helping's all aboutAnd some kind of help is the kind of helpWe all can do without~Shel Silverstein





	In The Christmas Bakery

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Elaine27 for her unwitting help in giving this work a title. ;)

Humming merrily along to the carols playing over the speakers Greg gathered ingredients, arranging them on the counter. The sheet pan was prepped and the oven preheated. All that was missing was Mycroft.

 

Greg grinned as he heard the front door close. “Wonderful! You’re on time.” He called out tying an apron around his waist.

 

Mycroft entered the kitchen hesitantly. He’d divested himself of his jacket and was rolling up his sleeves. “Anthea didn’t allow me to tarry. You must have promised her a magnificent bribe.” He pushed his rolled sleeves up above his elbows revealing his long, freckled arms.

 

“Do you want to change before we start?” Greg asked eyeing the waistcoat and suit trousers his partner was wearing.

 

“No. I’m comfortable.” Mycroft answered as he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his dress shirt.

 

“Alright. But this could get messy.” Greg went to the pantry and came out with another apron. “Here, best wear this.” It was a shocking shade of green and said ‘Merry Christmas Bitches’.

 

“Truly?” Mycroft looked appalled, but took the apron.

 

“Your clothes.” Greg shrugged. Mycroft observed Greg's long sleeved t-shirt and jeans and reluctantly chose to tie on the apron.

 

Greg surveyed his partner. “Perfect.” He pulled out his phone. “Now smile for Anthea. It’s her bribe.” Mycroft rolled his eyes and scowled. “Eh, close enough.” Greg took the picture and sent it on.

 

“The two of you will bring me to ruin.” Mycroft sighed.

 

Greg gave his lover a bright grin. “Time to bake.” He went back to the counter and continued measuring out the ingredients.

 

“I’m not sure why you want my help, Gregory. I am a menace in the kitchen.” Mycroft moved over to stand next to Greg and watch him.

 

“Why would you say that? You’ve helped me before.” Greg looked up puzzled by Mycroft’s words.

 

“Chopping vegetables, occasionally stirring a pot, making a salad, a sandwich, or tea and toast. None of those actually constitute cooking.” Mycroft avoided Greg’s gaze to stare darkly at the marble countertop, his shoulders rounded. “Mummy would ban me from the kitchen when she baked. She’d send me out of the house if she was making a cake.”

 

“Your mother…” Greg muttered under his breath. He simply didn’t understand the woman. In a louder voice he went on. “You know I’ve not made it yet to a Holmes Christmas dinner since we’ve been together. I want to bring something special and something meaningful to me. Something I’d make with my family.” Greg touched Mycroft’s arm gently and gave him an encouraging smile.

 

Mycroft tentatively smiled back, straightening his posture. “What exactly are we making?”

 

“A bûche de Noël.” Greg announced proudly.

 

“You’re insane," declared Mycroft.

 

“Not at all. My mum taught my sister and I to make this cake and I taught my girls. I’ve not had a reason to make one since the divorce. Now I do and I get to make it with you.” Greg beamed at Mycroft. “This is going to be fun.” He went to the sink to wash his hands.

 

Mycroft looked doubtful. “If you say so.”

 

Greg ignored Mycroft’s lack of enthusiasm. “I can’t believe I finally get to witness one of these infamous Holmes holiday dinners. Either I’ve been working or you’ve been working, and then there was the year you had the flu.” Greg dried his hands and turned around to witness Mycroft twisting away to sneeze heavily into his handkerchief. “Nooo…” he groaned.

 

“I’m fine.” Mycroft pocketed the cloth. “Just residual irritation from the PM’s perfume. I swear she wears it just to annoy me.” He moved to wash his hands. “Now what do you wish me to do?”

 

“Nothing hard. Just make some meringue.”

 

“Again. You’re insane.”

 

“It’s easy.” Greg deftly separated the eggs and handed Mycroft a copper bowl with the whites and a whisk. He tipped a bit of salt in the bowl. “Now beat them until they are stiff and glossy.”

 

Mycroft began to slowly stir the egg whites with the whisk.

 

“No, love, put some muscle into it.” Greg took the bowl and began to rapidly beat the eggs. They immediately began to foam.

 

“I see.” Mycroft took the bowl back and applied the whisk more vigorously.

 

“That’s it. They’ll be stiff in no time.” Greg moved a dish of sugar toward his partner. “Add that in gradually when they are good and foamy.” Mycroft nodded, his attention fixed on the egg whites. The tip of his tongue was just visible between his lips as he concentrated. Greg fought back the urge to kiss the man. He didn’t always seem like it, but Mycroft was a good sport.

 

Greg turned to his part of the cake making. He put the chocolate, vanilla and oil into a bowl and then into the microwave. He moved on to mix the separated yolks with sugar. Mycroft looked up and frowned. “Why do you get the mixer? My arm is tired and this is not stiff and glossy.”

 

“Mum always said the meringue is more stable if whisked by hand in a copper bowl.” Greg gestured for Mycroft to continue with his egg beating.

 

Mycroft huffed. He added the sugar and resumed his work, switching hands.

 

“Now why would your mum say you were a menace in the kitchen?” Greg prodded.

 

“When I attempted to assist things would go awry.” Mycroft frowned at the contents of the bowl as he beat them harder and harder. “The bread wouldn’t rise. The cakes would fall. The pies would overflow. The biscuits would burn.”

 

“Well, this cake won’t fall. It’s not that kind of cake.” Greg replied watching his yolks and sugar become lemony in color.

 

“Gregory, does this look right?” Mycroft held out his bowl for Greg to inspect.

 

Greg looked into the copper bowl. “Hmm… It looks like you’ve over beaten them. You must be stronger than you think.” He winked at Mycroft who looked distressed. “We’ve got more eggs. We’ll start over. Finish this for me.” Greg turned the mixer over to Mycroft. “Just two more minutes.”

 

Greg dumped out the whites and cleaned up the copper bowl. He got six more eggs and separated them. The extra yolks went back in the refrigerator. Mycroft watched gloomily as Greg added a bit of salt and started to beat the whites into a meringue.

 

“I told you," groused Mycroft.

 

“Nonsense.” Greg said stoutly. “You can turn that off and check on the chocolate." Mycroft switched off the mixer and went to the microwave. "Is it melted?”

 

“Ah… no.”

 

“Give it a stir and pop it back in for 15 seconds.” Mycroft grabbed a spoon from the dish drain and did as instructed. Greg continued working on the meringue.

 

When the microwave beeped, Mycroft opened the door. “Oh…”

 

“What, love?” Greg didn’t look up. He was working the sugar in the meringue bit by bit. It was coming together nicely.

 

“Ah… it looks less melted." Mycroft turned to Greg. "How is that possible?”

 

Greg picked up his bowl and continued his beating as he went over to the microwave. Mycroft stood prodding a brown lumpy mess in a glass bowl.

 

“It’s seized up.” Greg looked at the spoon with which Mycroft was trying to stir the chocolate. “There was probably water on the spoon when you stirred it the first time.”

 

Mycroft’s shoulders slumped. “In less than five minutes I have ruined two separate steps. Is that a record?”

 

“We can fix this, love. Go put the kettle on.”

 

“You want tea? I’m as English as the next man but tea doesn’t fix everything, Gregory.”

 

Smiling Greg rolled his eyes. “We’ll need boiling water to fix the chocolate.” Mycroft looked incredulous. “Go on.” Greg nodded at the kettle as he kept whisking the whites and went back to add the last of the sugar.

 

“Wasn’t it water what caused the problem? How’s that going to ‘fix’ it?” Mycroft nonetheless filled the kettle and switched it on.

 

“You’re just going to have to trust me. Ah, there! Look at that.” Greg displayed a bowl full of shiny egg whites that stood proudly as he lifted the whisk.

 

“Oh, that looks much better than the grainy mess I made.” Mycroft said admiringly.

 

“Now,” Greg got out a small saucepan and set it on the heat. He added some of the hot water from the kettle and set the bowl of seized chocolate atop. “Get a fresh whisk. You stir and I will add a bit of hot water. This will be corrected in no time.”

 

“What if I stir it wrong?” Mycroft looked worried. He held the whisk poised over the pot fearful of making a wrong move.

 

“You aren’t going to ‘stir it wrong’. Besides I’m right here.” Greg reassured his partner.

 

Within a few minutes Mycroft was stirring smooth, silky chocolate. “You did it,” he breathed, gazing at the molten chocolate.

 

Greg stood up on his toes to kiss Mycroft’s cheek. “No, love. We did it. C’mon, let’s get the batter together and in the oven.”

 

He took the chocolate off the simmering pot of water and gave it a few more stirs to help it cool a little. In a few moments the chocolate was incorporated into the yolks and sugar, then the meringue was folded in followed by the dry ingredients. The batter was spread in the pan and put in the oven.

 

Mycroft sighed with relief. “Thank god, that’s over.”

 

Greg gave him an amused smile. “It’s not over. We have to make the filling.”

 

“Filling? Of course.” Mycroft put on a brave face and visibly rolled his shoulders back. “What is the filling?”

 

Greg ditched the idea of a chestnut mousse seeing how anxious the elder Holmes was. “You can’t go wrong with whipped cream,” he answered.

 

“More whipping?” Mycroft asked slightly despairing.

 

“We’ll use the mixer for this, if you wash up the beaters.” Greg went to the refrigerator to the get the cream and the bowl he’d set inside.

 

Mycroft cleaned the beaters and reattached them to the mixer; secretly thrilled he figured it out without asking Greg.

 

Greg figured making the whipped cream would be task that would help restore Mycroft’s confidence. He put the cream in the cold bowl and indicated Mycroft put the mixer in as well. “Now you start whipping. When the cream starts to thicken you can add the sugar.” Greg turned his attention to cleaning up the bowls and whisks they had already dirtied. He was keeping a weather eye on the oven timer as well.

 

Mycroft watched the cream whip around in the bowl slowly getting thicker and thicker. It was rather mesmerizing. Little waves of cream radiated from the beaters and the sound of the mixer droning had him hypnotized. The cream became quite thick, then even thicker, and then…

 

“My… My… Mycroft…” Mycroft looked up. Greg was smiling at him. “Turn it off.” He stopped the mixer. “That’s beautiful butter love.”

 

“I…” Mycroft looked down in the bowl realizing the smooth, thick cream had become clumpy and a pale liquid was sitting in the bottom of the bowl. “I don’t know what happened.”

 

“Simple. You decided we needed homemade butter for the frosting. I think that’s a marvelous idea.”

 

“I didn’t decide. I ruined the whipped cream!” Mycroft snapped.

 

“Well, it isn’t whipped cream anymore, but it is perfectly good butter…” Greg replied calmly as the other man glowered at him. “Since you forgot to put in the sugar.” Mycroft shifted into a full on pout.

 

The timer on the oven beeped. “Hang on.” Greg got the cake out of the oven.

 

Mycroft stared glumly at the blob in the bowl.

 

“Love, I can still use your help.”

 

Greg’s voice cut into Mycroft’s silent recriminations. “I have no idea why. I’m making this task take much longer than it should.” Mycroft responded, despondent.

 

“I like spending time with you. You don’t like spending time with me?” Greg teased gently.

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Mycroft sighed. “My presence has brought only disaster. I’m inhibiting your enjoyment of this process.”

 

Greg pulled Mycroft away from the bowl of butter, holding his hands between them. “You’re the most important part of this, My. We are making more than a cake here. We are making memories. Happy memories in my book.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Think about it. In the years we have been together the Christmas memories I have of you are late night phone calls over our separate dinners, making you chicken soup and passing tissues. And those are the happy ones. Then there’s the Christmas when Sherlock shot Magnussen.” Greg gripped Mycroft’s hands a little more tightly. “You cried in my arms that night.”

 

“I suppose you’re right.” Mycroft conceded.

 

“Trust me love. This will be a happy memory very soon. Try to enjoy the moment.” Greg gazed softly at Mycroft and kissed his hands.

 

Mycroft gave Greg a small smile. “I'll try.”

 

“Good." Now back to business Greg returned to the task. "I need you to sift the cocoa and powdered sugar mixture on a tea towel. Think you can handle it?” He led his partner to the counter and pointed out the sifter and the tea towel. Mycroft started on his task, as Greg began to loosen the cake from the pan.

 

Mycroft, holding the sifter high, began to sift the powdered ingredients across the tea towel. As the fine particles wafted up into the air, he felt his nose itch and burn. Suddenly he dropped the sifter and turned, sneezing into his elbow. The cocoa and sugar flew out of the sifter liberally dusting the countertop and Greg as he turned to tip the cake onto the towel.

 

“Oh dear God…” Mycroft stared at the mess he’d created.

 

Greg roared with laughter. “Bless you, love.” Chuckling, he pushed the sifter aside and inverted the cake onto the tea towel.

 

“I’m so sorry.” Mycroft sniffed and rubbed his still itching nose.

 

“It’s fine, My.” Greg carefully rolled the cake in the towel and set it aside. “I’ll let you clean up the mess if it makes you feel better.”

 

Mycroft set about cleaning up the cocoa and sugar and Greg put away the fresh butter, before starting on the whipped cream for the filling. By the time it was done, Mycroft had the countertops pristine and the dishes cleaned.

 

Greg took the beaters out of the cream. “Let’s unroll the cake. I made some syrup earlier to brush on before the whipped cream goes on.” Mycroft stood with his hands hovering over the cake roll, unsure. “Go on. Just be gentle. I know those hands are capable of being gentle.” Mycroft smirked and then carefully unrolled the cake.

 

Greg took the syrup he had made and brushed it on. Mycroft sniffed suspiciously. “Did you use my good cognac?”

 

“Well I wasn’t going to use the bad cognac.”

 

“Incorrigible.” Mycroft huffed.

 

Greg grinned at his partner as he spread the whipped cream over the cake, leaving a one-inch border of cake. “You want to roll it up?” he asked.

 

Mycroft shook his head and stepped back. “No.”

 

“Alright.” Greg slowly rolled the cake and then set it seam side down on a nearby platter.

 

“Is that it? Are we done?” Mycroft asked hopefully from behind Greg.

 

Greg turned around, his back to the counter and the cake. “Nope. We have to frost it and decorate it, but that can wait for a bit.”

 

Greg reached out and tugged gently on Mycroft’s loosened tie, bringing his partners face close to his. “I think you deserve a reward for being such a good helper.” He kissed Mycroft, sucking on his lower lip and teasing his mouth open. Mycroft moaned softly, pressing his body against Greg’s and resting his hands on Greg’s hips.

 

The kiss deepened as Greg wound his arms around Mycroft’s neck. He felt Mycroft’s hands slide from his hips to just below his arse and lift him slightly. Giving a helping push Greg found himself sitting on the counter. He parted his legs and Mycroft moved between them, pressing close. Greg tilted his head back exposing his throat, welcoming his lover's attentive kisses.

 

Mycroft’s lips nibbled their way down over the light stubble, then licking and kissing the soft skin of Greg’s neck. There was the faint taste of cocoa on his lover’s skin. He found the sweet spot where the neck meets the shoulder and nuzzled his face into that warm junction.

 

Greg sighed with pleasure, leaning back on his hands and giving Mycroft’s clever mouth and tongue more access. Mycroft nipped at Greg’s neck, as his hands roamed up Greg’s sides, long fingers gripping and tickling.

 

Greg giggled and squealed. Attempting to steady himself against Mycroft, his arms flailed. His hand connected with the platter, knocking it off the counter, a platter with a cake on it, a cake that rolled off the platter.

 

The clatter caused Mycroft to open an eye. Seeing his and Greg's hard work start to roll towards the floor triggered reflexes little used. Mycroft dove.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Greg, this is beautiful.” Mrs. Holmes admired the bûche de Noël festively decorated with chocolate buttercream frosting, powdered sugar and meringue mushrooms. She set it on the sideboard for all to see. “And you made it?”

 

“With Mycroft.” Greg smiled at his partner as Mycroft brought over a glass of white wine for him. A warm look was exchanged.

 

“You let Mycroft help? Did you have the fire department standing by?” Sherlock sneered as he went by into the kitchen. Mummy raised her eyebrows at Sherlock, but said nothing.

 

Ignoring Sherlock, Greg slid a comforting arm around Mycroft’s waist and felt the man relax at the touch. “Believe me Mrs. H, that cake wouldn’t be here without Mycroft.”

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/buche-de-noel-recipe
> 
> Should anyone want to see the recipe for the cake.


End file.
